Compared to the whipping he had given me last night, at least two dozen vigorous smacks of it fell on my upturned bottom, smarting it as badly as a whipping with the switch from Mother in the woodshed would have done. I could not help but twist and contort about in discomfort, but as long as I made no deliberate effort to struggle from his lap or cover up my bottom with my hands, Mr. Raleigh made no protests.
“Now be a good girl until I have time to give you a proper whipping,” he said lifting me from his lap. “Go take a bath, then get dressed and come down to breakfast.”
“Yes sir,” I replied meekly and tearfully, walking slowly toward the door of the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom, rubbing my red and smarting rear end with both hands as I walked.
After I had taken a bath and gotten dressed, I went downstairs. Breakfast was ready and Mr. Raleigh was there. During the meal I kept my eyes averted from his as much as possible.
It was not pleasant to sit opposite the man who had done as many terrible things to me as Lester Raleigh had done, but he acted as though it was a perfectly natural condition, and chatted pleasantly about many subjects. He did not mention what had taken place last night nor the recent spanking that was still smarting my bottom. Yet even during this “pleasant” conversation I sensed a grim note in his voice that warned me to display only meek servility towards him. As for me, my shame and physical sensations overwhelmed me. For not only was my bottom atrociously sore and tender from the two whippings I had had in little more than twelve hours, but also-from the other thing he had done-my loins and thighs ached and I felt nervous spasms whenever I happened to meet his gaze, which I tried to avoid as much as possible.
After breakfast he packed his satchel of paints and carried it out to the car, together with an easel and fresh canvas. He told me if I was a good girl, I might accompany him. I would rather have remained at the house, feeling secure in the knowledge that he was away, but, fearing to anger him, I silently got into the car beside him.
When we reached the spot that interested him, he stopped the car and assigned to me the menial task of carrying the satchel of paints and the canvas. He set up the easel in a field near a patch of wood. The scene, apparently, gave him inspiration, for he ordered me to take off all my clothes, announcing that he intended to paint a picture of me. Being undressed before him in the house had been terrible, but being naked out of doors was much worse. Yet I had to obey him.
While I was undressing, he cut a switch from a tree and trimmed it. He kept it lying beside him, and many times during the day I had my bottom cracked with it. He was a most exacting artist, and when I failed to grasp the way he wanted me to pose as a wood nymph, I went over his knees to have my bottom vigorously cracked with the switch, or had my hind quarters turned over a log for it. I received three distinct spankings that day, plus many individual cracks of the switch. They served to keep my bottom in a constantly red and burning condition all the time.
It was not till late in the afternoon when he grew tired of painting and told me that I might get dressed. Then we drove back to his home. I dreaded the approach of evening, for I feared it was going to mean a repetition of the previous events. Nor was I wrong in that apprehension.
Shortly after ten o'clock, Mr. Raleigh looked at his watch, then glanced over to me with a strange expression he tried to make appear stern. “It is after ten, Lucille,” he said. “Time all little girls like you were in their rooms. Since you may feel that you are too old to be sent to bed so early, I had better go up with you to make sure you obey orders.”
“I–I'll mind you, Mr. Raleigh,” I stammered nervously, rising quickly and starting toward the stairway.
“I don't think you have had a sufficient taste of the strap to learn obedience so quickly, Lucille,” he commented dryly. “Now chase on up to your room and don't talk back to me.”
Slowly but obediently, though my heart was pounding frantically and I was clammy with fear, I walked upstairs to my room, with him just behind me. And, though I didn't dare look back, I had the shameful feeling that he was watching my legs and bottom as I ascended the stairs. When we entered the room, he closed the door, took the strap he had used on me last night from his pocket and tossed it on the bed, then seated himself on a chair.
“Get completely undressed, then get out your nightdress and put it on,” he directly sternly. Obediently I removed all my clothing, acutely aware that he was watching every move I made. I tried to avoid his gaze, for a deep flush of shame and embarrassment suffused my face every time I looked at him and reminded myself of the humiliations I was being compelled to endure.
When I was completely naked, I got out my nightdress and put it on. I regretted then that I owned a nightdress of black silk instead of one of flannel, for every curve and contour of my body was enhanced by the black silk and its sheerness against me.
After all the switching my bottom had got during the day, I hoped I was to be spared a further lesson in discipline, and that was why I tried so earnestly to obey him quickly in all he had commanded thus far. But Mr. Raleigh soon proved that punishing me was something he never seemed to tire of.
“Get the strap and bring it here to me,” he commanded after I had put on the nightdress. Picking up the strap from the bed, I carried it over to him.
“Get down on your knees when you present it to me,” he directed. “And when you present it, say what it is to be used for, Lucille.”
I dropped down on my knees, and in all humility offered him the strap, unable to keep from trembling as I did so.
“Are you presenting it to me because you think a taste of it will do you good, Lucille?” he asked, regarding me intently as he held the leather strap in his right hand, letting it dangle in all its length before my frightened, tear-glistening eyes.
“Y-yes s-sir,” I stammered, giving the affirmative I knew he wanted and not the negative plea that trembled on my lips.
“You are improving, Lucille,” he commended me, with a faintly smiling irony. “I think that in a short time you are going to be perfect. Oh, of course, you forgot to call me Master, and for that alone you've earned a little taste of the strap tonight-”
“Oh, but-” I gasped, squirming in anxiety on my knees. But he held up his other hand to silence me and went on blandly.
“Last night, because I was not sure of your reactions, I tied you up to whip you. Tonight, I am going to see if you are really going to be submissive by simply turning you over my knees for a whipping. I must warn you, however, that if you do not act in a satisfactory manner, I shall feel obliged to tie you up for the balance of the whipping. As you may expect, the strap will not taste so well on your bare backside if that becomes necessary.”
CHAPTER 6: THE KISS OF GRATITUDE
Meekly I rose to my feet and moved to the side of his chair. He laid me face down across his lap, then lifted the back of my nightdress above the waist and began applying the leather strap with stern cracks to my bare bottom. As a whipping, it was equally as intense and severe as the one he had given me last night. I could feel fancy crisscross marks being burned all over the twin cheeks of my bottom as the strap seared noisily across them. It was no easy matter to remain still while receiving such a whipping; but, knowing what would happen if I showed the least sign of protest, I had to keep passive. Again I bit my lips to stifle the cries of pain that came from them, while my hands gripped the legs of the chair tightly. My bare legs occasionally escaped control and kicked up instinctively while my burning hind-quarters twisted, jerked, and contorted about. But since none of the movements interfered with the whipping, Mr. Raleigh raised no complaint.
He continued the whipping for more than five minutes, I am sure. My bottom was just one big burning ache that smarted and stung as badly as any searing I had ever gotten from a real flame. As he had done during the previous night's punishment, Mr. Raleigh scolded and called me a naughty, disobedient girl while he whipped me. He told me how badly I deserved the whipping I was getting and described the whipping he intended to give me in the future if my conduct did not improve.